As You Wish
by The Communist Unicorn
Summary: Castiel is a genie. Dean gets three wishes, but he doesn't really want anything. Except maybe for this gorgeous, blue eyed man to stick around a while. (Destiel AU, one shot)


**Disclaimer: **The plot is basically stolen from Neil Gaiman's "October Tale" which you can read in the short story collection "Trigger Warning". Obviously the characters belong to the creators of Supernatural, and there's a line from Disney's "Aladdin" floating around in here somewhere. The rest of it is mine.

This is definitely a one shot, so don't bother following it, but please do leave a review telling me what you think. I am an insecure person in need of constant validation. =)

* * *

Castiel took his time stretching the kinks out of his back before he deigned to pay attention to his new master. The man was certainly easy on the eyes. Not that that really mattered, but it would make this whole ordeal slightly more bearable for Castiel.

The man was still holding Castiel's lamp and a polishing cloth. He suddenly dropped both. The lamp bounced off the corner of the coffee table on its way down, acquiring a new dent. Castiel was viciously pleased. He loathed that thing.

"Dude," the man said, "are you … You're a genie."

"Wow," Castiel said in a voice as dry as desert sands. "You're quick. What gave it away?"

"Well, the whole appearing in a puff of smoke thing was a pretty big clue. Plus, you kind of look like a genie with the baggy pants and the pointy shoes."

Castiel blinked and he was garbed in clothes similar to his master's — trousers made from a sort of soft blue canvas that conformed to the shape of his body rather flatteringly if he did say so himself, and a pair of leather boots.

"Huh. Neat trick," the man said. "Can you, um …" His eyes skated over the tattoos that wrapped around Castiel's arms and chest, words of power and protection in the ancient language of the djinn. "Could you conjure yourself up a shirt? Maybe?"

"If you wish."

It was worth a try, but apparently the man wasn't _that_ stupid. "Oh. No, I didn't mean … I can loan you one of mine if you want. Or you can just stay like … like that." His gaze darted down to Castiel's chest then quickly away, a faint flush tingeing his cheeks a rosy pink which incidentally went very nicely with the sea foam green of his eyes.

"It's fine," Castiel sighed. He blinked a shirt into existence, similar again to what his master was wearing although he left off the odd picture that seemed to be painted onto the fabric. He cleared his throat and launched into his spiel. "Rejoice, oh fortunate one. I am the genie of the lamp, and I have it in my power to grant you three wishes. There are a few ground rules," he continued in a less pompous tone. "I can't bring back the dead, and don't try that wishing for more wishes crap. I won't play, and you'll lose a wish."

"Seems fair," the man said. He thought for a minute.

Castiel tapped his foot, hoping the man would just line up his wishes and fire them off one after another. Not that he was eager to go back into the lamp, but he hated having to stick around and watch the inevitable disaster unfold. "Whenever you're ready," he said pointedly.

"You know what?" the man said. "I think I'm good."

Castiel gaped at him. "You're … you're good? You don't want anything? I'm talking _anything._ Wealth, power, a harem of beautiful women."

The man blushed deep crimson this time and rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah, not uh … not really my style." He met Castiel's eyes, and for a moment he looked sad. "You can't bring back the dead?" he asked quietly.

"No," Castiel said, but he said it gently.

"Then yeah, I'm good. There's nothing I really want."

They stared at each other.

"So, um … what now?" the man asked.

"I don't know," Castiel admitted. "This has never happened before."

"Do you … want something to drink? Water, beer … I think I have some mint tea left from the last time my brother visited."

Castiel couldn't remember the last time he ate or drank. He didn't need to of course, but it was pleasurable. "The tea sounds good," he said and belatedly remembered to add, "Thank you."

The man smiled shyly and disappeared into another room, the kitchen presumably. Castiel heard him moving around and was debating whether he should follow and offer his assistance (not to trick a wish out of the man, just to be a polite house guest) when his master (host?) poked his head back around the door and said, "By the way, do you have a name? Other than genie?"

"Castiel," Castiel said, the syllables sounding odd to his own ears. It had been so long since he had spoken them aloud, so long since anyone had cared to know his name.

"Great. I'm Dean. Come on in the kitchen. Tea's almost ready. You hungry? I'm not much of a cook, but I think I've got some hummus in the fridge, and I know there are crackers around here somewhere."

Castiel followed the sound of Dean's chatter into a bright little room. For the first time in millennia he felt … lost, purposeless, but he was strangely okay with that. Maybe because it was also the first time in millennia that he had felt free.

~o0o~

They drank tea (well, Castiel did; Dean had beer) and ate crackers with hummus. At first they didn't talk, but the silence was comfortable, companionable. Finally Dean said, "So how long were you stuck in there?"

Castiel told him.

Dean's eyes widened. "Ten _thousand_? _Years_? Jesus, that must have been …"

"Boring," Castiel said. "In the extreme. And before that, even though someone would usually let me out every couple centuries, they never wished for anything interesting. It was always the same old stuff."

"Wealth, power, and beautiful women?" Dean guessed with a smirk.

Castiel found himself smiling back. "Yes. Usually. But in all my existence you're the first person I've met who didn't want anything. You are a unique man."

Dean blushed. Castiel was finding that he quite enjoyed the sight and tried to think of ways to make him do it again. "Believe me, I'm nothing special," Dean said. "And I do want things. Just not things you can give me." He looked sad again. Castiel did _not_ like _that_ look on him.

"You lost someone?" he asked.

"My, um … my mom. Last year." Dean shook his head and swiped at his eyes. "Can we talk about something else?"

So Castiel told Dean about his youth in the dawn of the world when the djinn roamed free, riding the desert winds and dancing in the starlight. Then he spoke of the sorcerer who trapped him and bound him to the lamp.

"That's awful," Dean said with genuine sympathy. "I mean, to go from having the whole universe at your fingertips to being … a slave with about four inches of living space. That's … That sucks, man. I'm sorry."

Castiel blinked, not a magical blink this time, just a normal one. "Yes," he said. "It does. Thank you."

Dean told Castiel about his younger brother Sam who was in a place called Stanford learning about law. Dean was obviously very proud of his brother's achievements, but Castiel also got the impression that Stanford was very far away. He talked about his job at a vintage car restoration shop. He had to explain what a car was, but Castiel got his head around the concept fairly quickly. It was only another kind of magic after all. And he talked about the orphanage where he volunteered on weekends.

"The kids put on a musical every year for Halloween. This year they're doing Aladdin. That's why I was polishing up your lamp."

Castiel frowned in puzzlement. "I do not understand the connection. What is Aladdin?"

"It's a story. About a genie and this kid who … You know what? It's probably easier to just show you."

And that's how they ended up side by side on Dean's couch watching something called a cartoon which appeared to be a magical painting that could move and talk (although Dean kept insisting it wasn't magic). Castiel was at first confused and mildly offended.

"We are not like that. We are wise and powerful and —"

_"Ten thousand years will give you such a crick in the neck."_

"Okay, that is quite accurate," Castiel conceded, rubbing his own neck which was still a little sore.

When Aladdin used his last wish to set the genie free, Dean said, "Hey, would that actually work? Could I wish for you to not have to grant wishes anymore?"

"No," Castiel said. "That's written into the rules just like no wishing for _more_ wishes. I don't usually mention it because no one ever —" He fell silent, his throat suddenly painfully tight.

To his relief Dean changed the subject. "Do you like pizza?"

"I … don't know what that is."

"It's a food. I was thinking of ordering some for dinner."

Castiel's heart plummeted. "You mean —"

"No, not a wish, idiot. I was gonna pick up the phone and call the pizza place down the street."

"Oh." Castiel tried not to analyze his intense relief too closely. He wasn't ready to go back into the lamp yet. That was all. He was enjoying the fresh air and the conversation. It had nothing to do with the fact that every time Dean smiled at him Castiel's skin got warm and tingly in a way he hadn't felt in a very long time.

~o0o~

The next few weeks were the happiest of Castiel's life. He slept in Dean's spare bedroom and spent his days either taking long walks around the neighborhood or reading his way through Dean's book collection. He found a cookbook on a high shelf, its pages well worn and stained with food but its cover dusty. On an impulse he selected a recipe that looked especially beloved (the page was hanging onto the spine by only a single thread) and poked around in Dean's kitchen until he found all the necessary supplies.

When Dean came home there was a fresh pumpkin pie cooling on the kitchen table, wafting the scents of cinnamon and nutmeg through the house. "You … you made pie," he said, and for a moment Castiel was terrified that he had done something wrong because Dean looked like he was about to cry.

"I'm sorry. I didn't think it would be —" And that was as far as he got because he was suddenly being crushed breathless in Dean's arms. It took him a moment to realize that this was a hug. He had never been hugged before, but he'd seen humans do it enough to know what the appropriate response was. He tentatively wrapped his arms around Dean and patted his back.

Dean declared that pumpkin pie was a perfectly acceptable dinner because pumpkin was a vegetable, and when he took his first bite he made a muffled moaning noise that almost made Castiel choke on his own pie. "Damn, Cas. Where'd you learn to cook like this?"

"Your book contained very clear instructions. It was easy."

"Which book?"

Castiel retrieved it from the counter.

Dean took it almost reverently, handling its worn pages as gently as if they were the broken wings of a living creature. "This was my mom's," he said quietly.

"I'm sorry," Castiel said again. "I didn't know." He would never have used it so casually if he'd know what it meant to Dean.

"It's okay," Dean said, handing it back. "You should keep it. She'd be happy that someone was using it."

This time Castiel held the book more carefully, stroking its cover as reverently as Dean had. It was the first thing he had ever owned.

~o0o~

They settled into a comfortable routine. Castiel cooked dinner and Dean washed the dishes. Then they would watch a movie or read together on the couch until Dean started yawning and headed off to bed. One night Dean fell asleep with his head on Castiel's shoulder. When he woke up and Castiel was still there, he blushed and stammered an apology. Castiel assured him that it was quite all right, and after that they sat a little closer together, let their hands brush casually across the dinner table, but they didn't talk about what was happening between them. Perhaps they were both afraid to examine it too closely in case it turned out to be a mirage.

One weekend Castiel went with Dean to the orphanage and put on a magic show for the children. (He made sure not to do anything that couldn't be passed off as simple sleight of hand.) While he was making a sad eyed little boy laugh by pulling a tiny frog from his hair, he overheard a teenage girl whisper to Dean, "He's hot. Is he your boyfriend?"

Dean chuckled awkwardly and said, "No."

"But you wish he was," the girl said with certainty. "Why don't you make a move?"

"Claire—"

"If you think he doesn't like you too, you're blind. He looks at you like you hung the moon."

"No, he doesn't," Dean scoffed.

"He does. When you're not looking. Go for it, Dean. What have you got to lose?"

Those words echoed in Castiel's mind as he lay alone in his bed that night. _What have you got to lose?_ Dean was just on the other side of the hall. Castiel could go to him right now, wake him with a soft kiss, whisper to him in the dark. _I love you. I want you. Please love me back._ He imagined Dean reaching out to pull him closer, warm hands gliding over Castiel's bare skin. Or he might push Castiel away, order him back into the lamp and drop it into the deepest ocean. In his heart Castiel knew that Dean would never do that, but even so …

Dean had never made any demands of Castiel. Even when he asked Castiel to do things like the grocery shopping or the laundry, he was very careful to phrase it as a request, not an order or a wish. No, Castiel would not push Dean into anything he didn't want to do.

~o0o~

The next several days were a torment worse than his ten thousand years of solitude. Every time Dean stood a little closer to him than usual or looked at him in silence for a long moment, Castiel's heart beat faster and he was sure that Dean was about to say it. But his hopes were always dashed as Dean blushed and moved away or lowered his eyes.

Then one night they were on the couch watching something called "Dr. Sexy". Castiel had just decided that he really didn't like the main character who was pompous and self centered and not nearly as good looking as Dean when he noticed that Dean was leaning sideways into his space. He turned, expecting to find the man falling asleep, but those green eyes were wide open, staring at Castiel like … like he hung the moon, the stars, _and_ the sun.

Castiel held very still as Dean slowly moved closer. He hardly dared to breathe, terrified that he would wake himself up from this dream. But when their lips met, something warm raced through him, banishing all fear, all uncertainty. It felt like magic. His hands came up to pull Dean closer, and their mouths opened at the same time, a silent agreement that this wasn't close enough.

Dean pressed Castiel down into the couch cushions, and Castiel felt the man's arousal firm and unmistakable against his thigh. He shifted so that Dean would know beyond a doubt that he wanted this just as much. Dean groaned into his mouth.

They kissed for what felt like an eternity, letting the heat build slowly, but finally Dean pushed himself up on his hands and looked down at Castiel with dark, lustful eyes. "Can I …" His voice was rough, and it vibrated through Castiel where their chests were pressed together. "Cas, can I take you to bed?"

"Yes," Castiel said without hesitation.

Dean smiled and bent to kiss him again, but he pulled back just before their lips touched. "That wasn't a wish. You don't … you don't have to."

"I know," Castiel whispered, pulling him back down. "I want to."

~o0o~

The next morning in Dean's big bed, Castiel watched the sunlight paint his lover's face in shades of gold and felt like the most fortunate being in the universe.

Dean's eyes fluttered open and he immediately smiled when he saw Castiel. "G'mornin'," he slurred, still half asleep.

"Good morning," Castiel chuckled and kissed the tip of his nose.

Dean rolled over and snuggled into Castiel's chest, his fingers absently tracing the tattoos that he had become intimately familiar with last night. "You know, there's something I never asked you."

"What's that?"

"What would you wish for if you could?"

Castiel thought for a moment. Then he looked at the man in his arms and smiled. "Nope," he said. "I'm good."


End file.
